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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29299947">Musings on Grief</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/songbirdds/pseuds/songbirdds'>songbirdds</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Musings [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Criminal Minds (US TV) Season/Series 05, Emily will arrive soon, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Needs a Hug, Post-Canon, Sad Aaron Hotchner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:15:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29299947</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/songbirdds/pseuds/songbirdds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks."</p>
<p>Aaron Hotchner knew that grief never really left. It felt like fireworks and a frost all at the same time, chilling him down to the bone and then burning into his brain. He missed her, still.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aaron Hotchner &amp; Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner &amp; Jack Hotchner, Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner/Haley Hotchner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Musings [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2151972</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Musings on Grief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“Dad?” Jack called meekly from the kitchen table, homework long forgotten. “What did Mom sound like?” </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">In one sentence Aaron knew that today was to be the hardest day since the funeral. Jack had never been terribly open about Haley, it didn’t take a profiler to see that. And yet, Aaron couldn’t fault him; Jack had grown up to be a well-adjusted, happy 15-year-old. But he knew this day was coming. The day when Jack could no longer hide behindm fractured memories and the lid of a no way soundproof box. He’d looked into the eyes of serial killers, stared down the scum of the earth whilst not breaking a sweat, and his breaking point was a teenage boy asking about a mother who hadn’t come home in years. He’d known this day was coming. But just because he knew it was coming, didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">His breath hitched around the lump in his throat as he made his way over to the couch, work already abandoned; this would take precedence, always. Repeating the line he offered his son all those years ago, he reached out, “Buddy, you’re not making me sad. It makes me happy because it reminds me of what a great job Mom did with you. She was your mom. Nothing on earth will ever make me stop wanting to tell you about her.” He offered his hand and pulled Jack along the hallway to his office, and in there towards a dusty box that sat alone like both men wished it didn’t have to exist for the reason it did. As the dust settled from the disturbed box, both Hotchner men grabbed a handle, not dissimilar to pallbearers, and brought the box back to where the conversation began, the lounge. Aaron couldn’t talk about losing Haley to Jack in an office, it was too close to what could have happened had he lost both halves of his soul.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">The lid of the box was slowly removed and it took all he had not to flashback to all those years ago, pulling his own child out of the box, scared to lift the lid and accept the reality that he might have lost both halves of his whole in one day. Jack’s hand reached in hesitantly like he was fearing breaking the pictures. Or maybe he was breaking the fragile balance in life that they had managed to create in Foyet’s wake. She was smiling. That’s what struck both Hotchner men first as photos were lifted out one by one. She was smiling. </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">An old VHS tape lay at the bottom of the box, with dust settled gently on its surface. The video flickered to life on screen and Jack’s eyes were transfixed. The woman who had near become a stranger returned to life in a format memorised by both men, her grin a shining light. And Jack sat there on the floor with his legs tucked under his chin, rewinding the same video, each time hoping for a different clip to play. The sun set and stars rose, giving Aaron the chance to email his son’s school. He didn’t advocate for skipping but he supposed one day didn’t hurt, not after an evening like this. As the moonlit glow swept across the carpet, he moved closer to his son and pulled him close to his side, feeling a wet patch grow on his shoulder where Jack’s head rested. Seldom moving for fear of startling his son, he asked, “What’s up buddy?”. </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">“I’m waiting for Mom.” </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">And in that moment, he could see everything that was, and everything that could have been. He felt it all, like ten thousand knives ripping into his heart and shredding him from the inside out. Then and now colliding in a moment that was painfully bittersweet. His breath shook and his hands trembled. A force so strong that he’d forgotten its pull. Her hair. Her smile. The way she smelled. A pirate’s hat that should have been thrown out years ago but even back then he couldn’t get rid of it. A gunshot. Nights at the bar with the team. The blood. That stupid play. The curtain. Jack.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Tiny, tiny Jack who was untainted until he was lifted out of the crate by a broken man with blood-stained hands. Jack, who could no longer remember what his mother looked like. Jack, who didn’t remember his mom’s stories, let alone her voice. Jack, his saving grace. The one thing that forced him together when he was breaking at the seams.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Photos spread out on the carpet became explosions. Memories bursting into actions that flooded him and it was so tempting to drown. And if he closed his eyes, he could remember the smell of her shampoo. He could hear how she laughed. He could see her walking down the aisle. The good times remained, he would tell Jack those stories forever, but they were tainted, leaving only a man who loved so hard it ruined him and a woman who loved so fiercely it killed her. Aaron lost Haley a long time before she died, it was just that then, he could ignore it. Now, Haley’s absence went through him like a thread; everything he does coloured with it.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Grief was a most peculiar thing, he decided, for very few other emotions can cause a chill that is felt down to the bone, even after all these years. Aaron Hotchner knew that grief never really left. He’d just never planned on his son starting to live with it. He hoped that one day he might too. His son grieved a life he could’ve had, he grieved the life she should have had.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <b>
    <em>“Grief is a most peculiar thing; we’re so helpless in the face of it. It’s like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.”</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <b>
    <em>- Arthur Golden, Memoirs of Geisha</em>
  </b>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! This is my first fic. I've been a long time lurker/reader on here so I thought I'd start giving writing a go over the pandemic :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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